


The Tangled Web

by WhereisHome



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Cat and Mouse, Clint Barton Feels, Drinking, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt Clint Barton, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, Memory Alteration, Microfic, Natasha Feels, Natasha-centric, Past Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Protective Clint Barton, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Smut, clintasha sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:58:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereisHome/pseuds/WhereisHome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha's tired of the life she's been given and opts out, but it comes at the price of her memories. Clint watches over her and though she doesn't remember him, the curiosity of the man she keeps seeing over and over again, is consuming her. And I suck and Summaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Familiarity

She said she wanted out, so she got out. But for people like Natasha, it at a steep price. She couldn't just walk away, she couldn't just leave. Natasha  _knew_  too much.

So they took everything. Not just all of the pertinent SHIELD secrets, they took  _him_  from her. He watched it happen, standing being glass and clenching his jaw. How was this any different from what Hydra had done to James Barnes? Because Natasha wanted this. Clint constantly reminding himself that this had been her choice. That in reality she had taken herself from him.

She didn't want to watch people die, to live in fear of the things she could never take back, to see people she called friends turning on each other and die over and over again. She just wanted something quiet. She just needed everything to stop.

When they were done with her, she was no longer the man eating Black Widow, she was just a woman. A beautiful woman, with blonde hair, and a love for comfortable clothing. Her name was  _Nadia Petrova_ , and she turned heads everywhere she went. She was born in Russia, but raised in the US in the foster care system. She excelled in school and had recently received a master's degree in language and a job with HSBC. It was a promising life, a simple, and beautiful life. One that allowed her work, food, shelter, a startling amount of comfort. The travel would keep her from getting too bored, she'd never been good at staying in one place. Clint had made sure everything was perfect. Natasha could pretend to be anyone, but she had to  _become_  Nadia. There had to be nothing left of Natalia Romanova. Nothing that would make her dig too deep.

Clint tried to keep his distance at first, but Natasha had made enemies, and his feelings for her wouldn't allow him to take faith in her safety. She didn't even know what she was up against, and he couldn't be certain that she would realize how capable of defending herself she was.

Nadia first noticed him as she landed in Europe, travel had become something she was overly accustom to. six months she had lived as if this was the only life she's known, and in some ways it was. But when her eyes landed on Clint Barton her head tilted, her gaze lingered. He looked so familiar. Like a face she'd dreamed about a hundred times a night. As she passed him, she laughed to herself. He wasn't even her type.

Clint turned his head, spotting her, the look in her eyes made some part of him long for her to remember, to remember anything. But she passed by him just the same. She wouldn't have wanted to remember anyway. This was the life she'd chosen. For six months he'd checked in on her around like an idiot, making sure no harm would come to her. He could have kicked himself if he hadn't been busy continuing to discreetly tail after her.

That was the last she would see of him that trip, Clint made sure of it. The next brief contact they had was her birthday, not Nadia's birthday, but Natasha's. Clint left a small gift outside of her hotel room door, but was gone before she could answer his knock. She spent the rest of the trip asking her co-workers about it.

She caught glimpse of him in Hong Kong. Nadia wasn't stupid, she knew his face, she'd have known it anywhere... like a piece of herself. She ran after him, but he lost her at baggage claim. Now it was a mystery. Now it was  _exciting_. And while Nadia had this sense of hesitation, something in her that told her to leave it alone, she also knew that this mystery man showing up, watching her, had been no coincidence.

She was going to think up a plan to catch him, and when she did, she would find out why it was exactly that he was watching her.


	2. Foiled

Nadia stopped looking for Clint in her next two trips, When she did see him, she ignored him. At first he thought he had gotten lucky, but the second time, he became curious. She had seen him, he knew she had, and yet she purposefully looked away from him. This concerned Clint, had she remembered? Was she stubbornly trying to play into her Character? There was no way. Even Natasha,  _his_  Tasha was not that cruel.

 _"If there was one thing I could keep, it would be us,"_   she'd said to him once, nine months prior. After that day, they hadn't spoke. Mostly his own fault, he was angry then. Didn't really understand. But after months of watching her off and on, whenever time allowed, he was beginning to see.  _Ignorance was bliss_ , he thought as he watched her run in to a London bar, escaping the drizzle outside as if it were her only concern. She was happy, happier than he'd seen her in a long time, spare for the few moments of joy he'd given her in their time together.

He supposed some part of him understood, Tasha had never known a life outside of being a spy, outside of violence, KGB, Red Room, SHIELD. It was all the same really. At least for her it was, they all wanted one thing from her. She was a master of seduction, capable of anything, a skilled fighter, she spoke several languages, more than Clint could keep his brain wrapped around. She was only an asset. It was a lot of weight on her shoulders. She didn't like confrontation, and yet, confrontation was all she had.

It was in his distraction, as he watched the bar front, and thought of all the reasons as to why she had left him, that Clint failed to notice the once lover sneaking up one him,  _him, master spy, archer_ _extraordinaire_. Suddenly hearing food steps behind him, Clint pulled his gun and turned, but then froze at the sight of Nata-  _Nadia_. Her bleach blonde hair clung to her face, pasted down by the rain. Her eyes were wide but more with surprise than fright. She wasn't afraid of him. Which in some other circumstance, would have been wholly comforting, was now instead entirely too concerning. She should have screamed, ran away, kicked him in the balls.  _Something_. But she just stood there, staring like she hadn't thought he was real until now.

Some part of him couldn't help but smile. Only she would have been able to sneak up on him. "You're pretty stealthy for a banker," he said with humor in his voice as he lowered his gun.

Nadia watched him with curious eyes. She only glanced at the weapon for as second as he lowered it. "I'm patient," she corrected. He smiled a bit more, at the familiarity he felt in her words. "You've been following me, I feel like after this long I should know why."

Nadia evaluated him. He was an attractive man, but not a handsome nor pretty one. His nose had been broken too many times for that. His stubble didn't look soft or inviting, but his biceps did. In the wet weather, his clothing clung to every muscle in his body.  _Damn._ She thought, looking at him. He wasn't her type, no. She preferred taller, more expensive looking men. Ones who wanted little to do with her outside of the bedroom, but also looked at her like she was a fine bottle of wine or a rare jewel. He didn't look at her that way.

"To make sure you're safe," he answered honestly. Clint knew better than to lie to her. Even if she wasn't  _his_  Tash, he was sure she was in there somewhere and if so, she would have seen right through him.

"I know you," she said. Though really it was more of a question than a statement, but Nata-  _Nadia_. Nadia didn't work in questions. Just like Natasha hadn't. She stated the parts she knew, and let him fill in the rest.

"You did once," he answered briefly. If she still had her scrutinizing eye, she'd see the sadness under the smirk he still wore. He hoped she wouldn't. Though judging by the way her face softened, she had.

"You already know my name," she said, giving him one more once over, "So why don't you tell me yours over some vodka."


	3. Focus

As they entered the bar, she peeled off the top layer of her clothing. Her damp tank top clung to her like a second skin. Her jeans looked heavy, tight against her legs. It reminded Clint of better times, times they’d struggle out of their soaking wet clothing and spent hours turning over in bed to ‘warm themselves’. It was a guilty thought, and he knew unfair. He knew her body like the back of his hand, every inch of her.

Nadia turned towards him with a shot of vodka in each hand just in time to catch him staring. She smirked gently. "Don't tell me you're stalking me because you're trying to bang me," she said teasingly.

Clint didn't seem to find it very funny however as his eyes raised to hers. He took the shot from her hand before speaking, "If sex was what I was after there are much easier ways to get it then stalking, no matter how worth it you might be, Nadia," he said intention masked by humor. 

The way he said her name made her shiver as if there were a hidden meaning her body was far more aware of than she was. Clint noticed the shiver, though if he ask he was certain she'd say it was from the rain. He knew her. He knew her very nature and knew there would be no grimace from either of them as they slammed back the shots of liquor. He knew the looked that would be one her face when she brought her head back down.

He savored it. To many, the face would have seemed focused or determined, to him, it was more than that. There was this glint of danger, this challenge that demanded to be met. It was her, all of her, and he loved it.

"Now your name," she said in the most giving, and yet demanding way possible. He was her mystery, and she couldn't ever resist flirting with danger.

"Clint Barton," he said shortly, playing with the shot glass in his hands, his eyes watched it dance over the table, guided by his finger.

Nadia watching him, his cool posture, his laxed tone, his lazy gaze. To the casual observer, he looked relaxed, but to her eyes, he was as uncomfortable and tense as could be. "How do we know each other?" she asked. A question, a real question. The only question that would ever matter, or at least it felt that way.

Clint's eyes flicked up to her quickly. They held there for a long moment before looking back to the shot glass. "That was another life," he said quietly.

Nadia sat in silence, knowing he wouldn't give her a straight answer. She wasn't even sure she really wanted one. Maybe the mystery was better. Clint looked hurt, angry even, underneath the facade he raised. Nadia had no interest in becoming to invested in something she didn't feel she'd understand anyway.

After a long moment she moved back to the bar. This made Clint look back to her. Natasha would have hated the blonde curls, he thought, but some how, they made her seem innocent, angelic. That was likely why she would have hated it. He smiled to himself thinking of how she would have cursed him if she knew.

Nadia returned to the table with a bottle of vodka and two tall shot glasses. She set them on the table and opened the bottle to pour. She hadn't looked at him, but her eyes held the same dangerous challenge they did when she took the shot.

Clint knew it was trouble. Drinking with her, especially since she had always, always been able to go shot for shot with him. Her eyes ever urging him on until they fell into bed. He didn't want to fall into bed with her. Not drunk. He'd call her by the wrong name, and things would get complicated. A smarter man, would have left. Part of Clint was glad he was not a smarter man.


	4. Flirt

Time seemed to turn on end, flipping and flopping about like a fish on a boat. One minute she was smiling at him, and time seemed to stand still the next they were back to talking about nonsensical things and drinking and time flew past. Clint had a hard time reminding himself that the girl sitting in front of him was no longer his, not that Tasha would ever had said aloud that she was. That though her brow perked the same way when she said something flirty, and that the wickedness behind her eyes was not from a woman with a ledger dripping with red.

Nadia was having a hard time of her own. A hard time reconciling that he was a stranger. That the man before her, despite whatever they shared in 'another lifetime', that he was no one to her. But she looked at him and felt her heart pound. Her green eyes constantly getting lost in the blue ones staring back at her. He made her feel alive when their hands touch, and they did, more often than they should have.

They stayed until the bar closed, and he walked her, in the rain, back to her hotel. She'd always liked the rain. Not because it was sad or darker outside. Because rain made it feel like everything bad could just be washed away. Like the red would bleed right off of her, and she would be clean again. It felt weirdly fitting to rain now.

He paused as they reached the hotel, even in his intoxicated state he knew better than to follow her inside. He'd been caught in this particular web of hers before. Too many times.

"Good Night, Nadia," he said, smiling to her. There was hesitancy and sadness in his tone. He hadn't wanted to show his true feelings, but they came through regardless.

Nadia looked at him a long moment before grabbing him by the shirt collar, she pulled him in for a kiss. It was impossible for him not to return the gesture. His hands rose to grab to her waist, pulling her impossibly close to him.

She tasted like the vodka they'd shared and raspberries. She always tasted sweet like sun ripened raspberries. Nadia could feel goosebumps rise on her skin as their lips parted and they tasted each other. The kiss was so perfect, so effortless it was as if they'd done it a hundred times. His arms snaking around her made her feel like she would be consumed by him and there was nothing she wanted more.

After a moment so long, the rain had become a drizzle once more, and then ceased all together, he pulled away. Nadia looked at him breathless, expectant, lusting. Clint knew he couldn't tell her no, no matter how much his better judgement told him to back away he saw her flushed cheeks and thought of his hands on them, pulling her in. He heard her heavy breathing, and thought only of how much heavier he'd like to make it. He felt her small hands holding him close by the collar and thought of all the better uses for them.

It took him a while to process everything and actually speak, "I can't."

"I'll catch cold," she responded quickly. He started to disagree but then she kissed him again and he turned into putty in her hands. She pressed her body back to his and he knew it was too late to argue. He belonged to her.


	5. Fondue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I um... I'm so sorry this is the longest chapter. And that it took so long. I... blame Clint. Clintasha smut ahead.

The trip to her room was spent in shared kisses, some slow and laced with temptation, others rough and heated. All were clear in their intent. Nadia wasn't even sure they'd make it into her room as he pressed her back against her door and kissed her hard. He knew he should have left, that this was the last place he should have been, completely unsure if he could trigger her memories, if he would want to. He knew it was selfish to even consider but he'd missed her. The feel of her body which was pressed flush with his as they tumbled into her hotel room, the smile she wore as his lips pulled from hers to kiss her neck and shoulders after they’d shoved off their coats, he'd missed all of it. But he also knew he didn't really have it back. She wasn't really herself. But his eyes deceived him, so he chose to live in the deceit.

Nadia pulled at his shirt, wanting to see and feel his defined body. When she finally managed to pulled the wet shirt off of him, she backed away just a bit. Looking between them as she unbuttoned his pants and pushed down along with his boxers. She bit down on her lip as she looked him over, she could live with that, most certainly. The heat rolled off his body like waves crashing to her shore as he pulled her closer. His fingers pressed underneath her top, pushing it up slowly as he kissed her slowly. She couldn't understand his patience when she felt as if she were bursting at every seam. Her fingers itched to touch him as she ran her nails down his abdomen.

His fingers grazed her bra, and then finally, and very suddenly he pushed her on to the bed. She gasped but welcomed his body back to hers as he pressed a smoldering kiss to her lips. He reached for her tank top, tearing it from her, which caused her a rush of heat. He knew what she liked, what she craved, and had quickly forgotten how unfair, how not right this was. He pulled the tattered fabric from her and tore away his lips from hers, pressing heated kisses over her skin and unfastening her bra, it look expensive and he had no doubt she would and still could kill him. He pulled her jeans down with welcomed roughness as he kissed down her toned stomach as she moaned softly. He looked at her near bare form with hunger and lust, burning though him.

Nadia felt breathless as she looked upon him. “Clint,” she beckoned, all caution left in the rain. And he obeyed. He took her legs in his calloused hands and pressed kisses up her thighs. He wanted her. Her breathing hitched as his nose just barely grazed her certain to be soaked underwear. He needed her. He pulled them away slowly and tasted her. Sweet like honey, and wet for him. He had seen her with other men in the months he followed her, but he knew, absolutely knew that no man would please her, would know her like he did.

She gasped and moaned at every flick of his tongue against the swollen and sensitive nub, feeling herself unravel. He pulled away only when he knew he could wait no longer, only when he ached to have her. Pulling her body close to his, his cock rested hard and warm against her wet center. It gave a strong twitch at the feel of her that caused her cheeks to burn. “Clint,” she murmured softly, her hands raising to cup his cheeks as she kissed him. He groaned into the kiss, and pushed himself in to her.

Her body rose to meet his without hesitation, a soft whine slipping her lips. He didn’t wait for her to prepare herself, he didn’t wait for her to adjust to the feeling of him inside of her. He just began to move his hips, not gently, nor rough, but in a steady rhythm that made her moan as if she were melting. Her body knew what to do, moving with his, her legs rising around his, knees squeezing him at the hips to keep a grip.

"Faster," she pleaded, and as he gained speed, her hands fell to his shoulders, gripping him tight, in need of grounding. The stretch of his girth causing shivers, his motions and the occasional hit of her g-spot causing her to tighten further around him. At this rate she would lose all control.

He kissed her passionately then pulled away to kiss her neck, careful not to leave bruises against the delicate skin as he dragged his teeth over her flesh. He moved his hands to her hips, gripping her tightly as he drove himself in to her. There was nothing gentle left in him, erased by a primal need to have her, his Natasha. To drive from her more gasp and moans, waiting for the eventual whimper.

And it soon came as kissed lead down to her delicate pink nipples, his teeth and tongue lashing over them mercilessly. Her back arched, pressing herself closer to him, she whimpered louder and he knew, she wouldn’t last long, which was good, as he wouldn’t either. It had been so long, so very long and he would hardly be able to keep himself from giving in, not this time. He latched on to her left nipple, sucking on it and lashing his tongue against it as his hips continued to pound into her as if there was some kind of hope of her not being able to walk straight the next day.

But she would. Natasha always did.

Nadia gasped loudly and whimpered his name, her nails raking down his back, drawing blood and causing the archer to shiver. He fucking loved her, and couldn’t help but mumble it incoherently against her skin. She was so lost in her own field of pleasure that his words were lost. She felt dizzy, as if she were spinning, her toes curled and nails digging in to his shoulders once more. Finally she broke, a high keen leaving her mouth as her body tightened up, and then released, trembling with ecstasy.

The feeling of her squeezing around him, so wet and hot, was more than enough encouragement as pressed his lips back to hers. A few more hard thrust and came as well. His hips pressed flesh to hers, the way they always had, burying his seed deep inside of her. She moved her hands to his head, tangling her fingers in his hair to keep him close, her legs wrapping fully around him as they reached their limit together.

As they wound down, he scooted them further on to the bed and laid over her. He buried his face against her neck and breathed her in. He just wanted her back, and for a moment, it felt like he had her back. Like she was his deadly and beautiful Russian spider. He could at least pretend. At least for that night.

Neither of them spoke a word for some time. Nadia’s hands soothing his hair as she was tempted to sleep, so comfortable underneath him.

“You’ll be gone in the morning, won’t you?” she asked, though her tone said she knew it to be so. He nodded, not daring to open his eyes.

“Then let be fall asleep here with you.”

He pressed a kiss to her neck, and moved them under the covers, allowing her to fall asleep on his chest, the way she had so many times before.


	6. Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hoping to get the next one out soon so as not to leave you on this note.

For months they played this game of cat and mouse, Nadia leaving Clint leads to where she would be next, knowing he’d find her, knowing he’d be there, that they would fall in to bed again and again. Though Clint was the one doing the chasing he couldn’t help but feel the part of the mouse, as he always did with Natasha, while he chased after her, constantly falling in to her web. Even when he told himself he should walk away, end things, over and over again, it took one devilish grin from the blonde to put him back in his place.

Often they would tumble in each others arms, until finally exhausted. They left little time for talk, as all talk seemed dangerous. And despite what either of them may have thought, of ending things, or asking questions, they usually resigned to simply existing in that moment.

It was only after one long day in Milan, Clint arriving at her room to find the former assassin sitting by the window, staring off. She felt distant, cold, and it honestly surprised him that she was there at all. Normally Natasha would have taken off, it was a harsh reminder that at the end of the day, she wasn’t Natasha, not really, not anymore.

“Nadia,” he spoke quietly as he entered the room, setting down a duffle bag and stepping closer to her.

“I’m barren, aren’t I?” she asked suddenly, her hands leaving their spot above her womb. “I had a physical, no way I can have children, might have already had one even. What else don’t I know about myself, Clint? What else is being kept from me that I should know?”

There was anger in her voice, hurt. It ran so deep, and bitter that Clint nearly flinched at the question. He took a step back, expecting her to attack him. That was what he was used to, Natasha. She was violent and deadly and damaged. Nadia didn’t seem to be any of those things.

“I can’t... I can’t answer any of those questions. I won’t. You wanted things this way,” he could feel his chest constricting as his own bitterness rose. “I shouldn’t even been here. You wanted this, Natas-” He cut himself off turning towards the door and slamming his fist against it.

“What did you call me?” she asked, her eyes widening just slightly, her hands coming back to her stomach.

“Nothing. You’re no one, that’s who you wanted to me. Nadia Petrova.”

“Dammit Clint,” she swore, standing from the window sill and approaching him. “Don’t, don’t fucking toy with me. I’m not... What am I?”

He turned, and glared at her, his temper rising, he’d never been a man who’d thought things through. As he spoke, his voice rose to a near yell. “You’re Nadia Petrova. You’re an orphan from Russia. You speak a fuck ton of languages. You’re barren from a pregnancy that went south, and you are the one who’s been toying with me. For years. As long as I’ve know you, you have toyed with me. And I’m a damn fool to keep coming back.”

She took a step back at his anger, like an instinctual fear of being struck. The motion softened Clint. He would never... He could never bring himself against her, even when he should have. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Get out,” she said in a hushed voice.

“Nadia, please.”

“Get out, Get out! I don’t want to see you anymore, so get out!” He grabbed his bag and turned to leave, looking thoroughly sullen at her anger. “And stop following me.” She added as she slammed the door behind him.


	7. Family

A month had passed and everyone at the tower began to despise Clint’s sulking around, but he still listened, stopped following her, stopped looking for her. She wasn’t his anymore no matter how it pained him, she wasn’t Natasha. Natasha would have surely broken his nose if they’d fought like that. And he would have deserved it. Natasha hadn’t toyed with him, not in a long time, not since she’d become an Avenger. Still, the bitter part of his brain saw this as nothing more than one of her games, a final fuck you and he was better than that, deserved better than that.

He hemmed and hawed over his pain and suffering, never being the selfless one Natasha had always claimed he was. Eventually realizing that she was the only real victim in this twisted reality. Natasha chose to forget, yes, but Nadia had only chosen to be with him. She didn’t know, couldn’t have known the past they’d share, the way she’d suffered, she couldn’t have.

It was a surprise to the archer when he got an e-mail from the banker, and more of surprise when he read it’s contents. ‘Waverly, Iowa. Tomorrow.’

Clint was by nature not a man who believed in coincidence. There was no reason for Nadia to contact him, no reason, for her to be in Iowa. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up as as thought about it. Either she’d remembered, or something truly terrible was happening, either way, he was going to Iowa. No matter what, he couldn’t let anything happen to her.

Packing his things, and hiding an adequate amount of weapons on his person, he took a flight to Iowa. It was 3 and a half hours later when he set foot on the familiar soil of the farm house that had been left to him. He hadn’t been there in years, not since the last time he’d needed to regather himself.

The house was in better shape than he remembered it, but his memories of the property were always tainted by his childhood. He walked in, hearing the floor creak beneath him and inhaled the musky air of a home well in need of love. Love - he let out a scoff like laugh at the thought. Had this home ever known love?

“Well, well, baby brother, wasn’t sure you’d make it,” came an all too familiar voice. One Clint had truly hoped he wouldn’t hear.

“Dammit Barn.” He turned around and saw the tall red head standing in the door way, a knife in his hand. Clint moved to strike, but Barney was faster. He dodged Clint’s swing and brought his elbow down on the younger Barton’s back. Clint fell but caught himself, sweeping Barney’s legs before rolling away from him. “Tell me you have nothing to do with her, Barn, or I swear to God!”

“Oh, that sweet thing? ‘Pert near didn’t recognized her with them blonde curls. But how do you forget a face like that? Brought her here just for you, Clint.” A sickening smile painted Barney’s face, it tied knots in Clint’s stomach. It was also the first time Clint had gotten a good look at his brother, seeing the bruising around his eye. Natasha must have done that.

Clint pulled a gun from his waistband and pointed it at Barney. “Where the hell is she?”

“And I thought guns were supposed to be my thing.” Barney picked himself up and brushed dirt from his pants as he gave a laugh. “What would be the fun in telling you that, Clint-boy. You’re just going to have to chase the white rabbit.”

Barney darted from the room faster than Clint could pull the trigger, Clint cursed and chased after him. Running out the back door and into the fields, over grown with weeds. He chased him as fast as he could but still, Barney was faster, and disappeared into one of the run down barns.


	8. Futz

Clint wasn’t sure how he’d gotten there. 3:47 pm, May 3rd. Waverly, Iowa. Fair weather, all things considering. The thing that was the most unusual and yet the most familiar was chasing his older brother on his family farm. But it didn't settle his stomach any as he ran into the run down barn, and amongst the golden heaps of hay, finding Natasha Romanoff, unconscious and as pretty as ever. Her pale skin marred with vibrant bruises.

The sight of her unconscious body made his skin crawl, not because he was repulsed by her, but because, whatever had been done to her, whatever Barney had done to her, was his fault. Barney couldn't have cared less about Natasha, liked her even because she’d never softened up on Clint’s bullshit. The brothers on the other hand had a very real grudge. So real that she was caught, unwittingly, in the middle of it.

Clint knew it was a trap, knew Barney was waiting for him to go to the woman, but hell he couldn’t bring himself to care as he indeed made quick steps towards her and lifted her from the hay, “Tash,” he murmured, unable to help himself. She stirred in his grasp and he felt thankful. In that moment she was alive and that was all that mattered.

"I thought you'd like your present," Barney called out from the rafters. "Consider it a welcome home gift.”

“I swear to God, Barn-”

“Swear at make believe don’t mean shit. Thought I told you before, lovin’ just makes you weak.” He scoffed before shooting at a lamp, the fall to the ground igniting the hay no sooner than he could pull Nadia away from it. The door behind them slammed shut and Barney was gone.

She coughed and held tight to him, though she couldn’t couldn’t find it in her to panic, even in spite of a very real pounding in her chest the sight of the fire gave her. “Dammit, Clint,” she choked out.

He felt grateful, knowing now that she was truly alright even if they were in a barn on fire. “I got ya,” he soothed as he lead her away from the fire, trying to look for a point of weakness, A place to escape. He released her to try the door, it wouldn’t budge and he was willing to bet that Barney had made sure it would hold. “Time to get creative, Nat-”

Whack. Nadia brought an axe down on the old and rotting wood, Clint jumped back. “Careful there!”

“I’m not dying in a fucking barn fire!” she yelled over the roar of the fire, swinging with the newly found axe once more. “I’m not dying in ho-bunk Iowa. And I’m not your precious Natasha.” Every statement was punctuated with another swing, Clint’s brows had long since raised towards the ceiling as she hacked away at their exit point.

She lead the way out of the large hole, smoke billowing out after them as they gasped for air. Clint didn’t hesitate to take her under his arm and lead her back to the house. Barney was gone, as was his rental car. He wouldn’t be getting that deposit back.

Nadia sat at the kitchen table in silence, as he brought her water. She shouldn’t even look at him, which frustrated him, but he had no right to demand she did. His self-entitlement is what got them into this mess to begin with. He had no right to interfere with her life. She only wanted a chance at happiness, and he had brought her nothing but pain.

His self-loathing grew deep into his bone and he huffed, stepping away to head up stairs, starting a shower. He needed to clear his mind, to think, to scrub his skin raw until he didn’t feel like Barney was underneath it anymore.


	9. Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again it took a while, I swear I don't know why I'm so inconsistent.

Despite the sound of running water, the house was uneasily quiet. It was as if all of the history was seeping out of the house. Nadia stood and walked the downstairs, hands traced the ancient wallpaper, hideous floral, dated. 30 years? 50, maybe. She knew this had been Clint’s home. Barney had said so when he’d met with her, offered this to her, and then pistol whipped her. Asshole.

She huffed softly and turned her head to the stairs. Only then did she notice the hard wood floors stained with blood. Only specks. This house had seen horrors, there were dents in the walls, from fist. They brothers were damaged, likely more than the woman could imagine. She didn’t really want to think on it anymore. Her head was already spinning.

Slowly she made her way up the stairs, padded softly on the wooden floors. She could see Clint’s broad form through the grimy glass. She watched him scrub his skin roughly before he looked over and noticed her. Cautiously they watched each other’s still forms for a moment before she began to strip down. She stepped to the shower, and he slid open the door. They’re eyes locked, even as she joined him in the small space. Nadia was not a short woman, standing at 5′7, but in front of his 6′3 form, with all of these unsaid words she felt small. And they stood there, staring at each other as water sprayed onto Clint, bouncing off his back, speckling over her face.

Finally, Clint raised his hand and stroked his thumb over her cheek, fingers brushing over the deep indigo bruise. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible over the running water.

Nadia shook her head, petite hands raising to wrap around his callous ones. “I’m sorry too,” she said, a bit more sure of herself than he was. She moved closer and leaned up to kiss him gently. He allowed her retreat, and looked at her with sad blue eyes. She pulled him down to hold him. To comfort him. She felt, more than heard him murmuring apologies. She didn’t ask for them, wasn’t even sure she wanted them, but she knew he was hurting. More than he’d let on.

They stood there, hours it seemed like. The water had been cold to begin with so it was hard to tell. But neither of them wanted to budge. Only once Clint had pulled himself back together did they rinse off and he lead her down to his bag, handing her a shirt and pulling on clothing of his own.

Nadia noted the scent of him, how comforting she found it. Musk and wood. Then scent of gun powder and the polish he used on his weapons. He was dangerous, and she was beginning to think she was too. She knew she was. She was Natasha, whoever Natasha was, but every fiber of her fought not to be her, not to remember her, not to become her.

“Clint...”

He turned to her, “’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to be Natasha,” she said softly.

“I know.” He could feel his heart sinking, stomach twisting. “This is my fault. And I’m sorry for that. I shouldn’t have...”

“I don’t regret it.”

“I love you.”


	10. Flounder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this fight is long. bleh, why did I even start writing this plot.

Nadia looked at him, tears welding in her eyes, and she couldn’t even properly rationalize why. His words horrified her. They shook her deeply. She didn’t want him to love her, didn’t believe he did and refused to love him in return. “Don’t... don’t say that.”

He shook his head and pulled her into his arms. “’m sorry, but I do.”

She shoved at his hold and backed herself away from him. “No, you don’t. You love her. I’m not her. I can’t be her. My name is Nadia Petrova. I’m not your Natasha.”

“Nat...” his lips pulled into a pout, he looked so puppy like.

“Stop it. My name is Nadia Petrova. That’s who I am. I made this life. I built it.”

She was right, and wrong. They’d built her together. Built Nadia, built her life. Made her perfect escape. And he regretted it now. He stiffened up and moved to his bag, pulling out a laptop before stepping into the kitchen. He couldn’t rationally do this, handle this. She was everything to him, and he just wanted her back, just wanted to take all of this back. “I’ll book you a flight for tomorrow,” he said with a cold calm.

It felt like a cold knife from the gut when he closed himself off to her, but there was also a disgusting amount of relief. She let out a shaky breath, and swallowed hard against the taste of bile. “But what about-”

“Barney? I’ll take care of him myself. You’d only be in the way. What good would a banker do against a rogue FBI agent?” he huffed indignantly.

She felt irrational anger, heat rising to flush her cheeks. “We’d be stronger toge-”

“No. Love makes you weak, makes you vulnerable. And you have no desire for that, Nadia Petrova. We both know that. So you’ll head off on your plane back to your lush life, the one that you wanted and enjoy the peace you wanted.”

“So you’re pushing me away now?” she half-demanded as she moved towards him.

Clint slammed the laptop down on the wooden table and turned towards her, “What do you want from me? You’re so complicated, you’re always so damn complicated. You wanted this. You wanted this life, and you pushed me away first. I got you away from Barney, that’s the only reason I’m here. To make sure you were safe.”

“But I’m not. I haven’t been, not since London and we both know that!” She pulled at the blonde strands, frustration taking her features.

“I thought we both understood that once, had both made peace with that. And then you left me. Again. That’s what you do. You leave. You always have. So if we can’t... You’re not going to love me, not as Nadia, not as Natasha. So just do what you do best. I’m sick and tired of being toyed with .”

She couldn’t stop herself as her hand raised to hit him, a solid punch to the jaw. He’d almost forgotten how hard she hit. Stupid serum. He clenched his fist, but he wouldn’t strike her, he’d never dare, not like this. “You’re the one who’s been toying with me. I’ve been you’re desperate attempt to reclaim a woman who didn’t love you enough to stick out the tough shit. You don’t know me. I’m not her. You didn’t even try. You’d just show up and fucked me.”

“Is that what this is supposed to be? You sticking out the tough shit? Because this is nothing over what we’ve been through. You don’t remember what tough is. You think you’re so fucking brave but you’re a god damn coward!” He yelled back.

“I’m scared, Clint! You terrify me! And if you weren’t such an idiot you’d just admit you’re scared too.” Her teeth were clenched so tightly they grit together. She was so angry, so frustrated, so tired, so confused and he was still blaming her for Natasha’s short comings.

“If you were so terrified, why did you bait me? Why take me to that damn room, why play this game at all?”

“You still think I’m playing at something. I thought... I thought I could love you, but... You’re so selfish that you’d risk my life just to have her. That you’d risk everything I have just to feel close to her. You don’t love me, didn’t love her. If you did you would have left me alone. Let me be happy.”

“I made you happy once.” He’d lost so much of his tension in defeat, sounded dejected. He knew she was right. “You didn’t want to lose us... You’re my god damn best friend and you left me.”

“That was Natasha, I don’t know you, not really. I don’t know us... I don’t know what I was thinking. I knew you were danger and I took you home. I wanted you, and you used that to feel close to her.”

He felt sick, just wanted to sleep for a week, or keep himself up for just as long, busy on a mission not able to think of her face. He regretted so much. “I’ve never been able to say no to you.”

She wanted to hate him, hate the way he looked at her, saw right through her. The way he knew every inch of her, every molecule. She hated it, because she hated the feeling as if she were someone else, as if everything she knew was a lie. And when he looked at her, he saw all of her, and only saw Natasha. “What would she do?” she asked quietly. She needed direction, and if she couldn’t... didn’t _want_  to trust Clint... maybe she was best to trust herself.

“She’d say just the right thing to send me off to bring Barney in... then show up at my apartment with drinks... and we’re just sit there, she’d complain about it not being clean, call me a slob... but smile at me, because she knew me better than anyone.” He leaned against the table and sighed. “I know I did this, Nadia,” the name tasted like ash on his tongue now. “I should have kept my distance. I fucked up, and Tasha would have punched me too.. I’m always fucking up.”

“... I don’t believe that.” She stepped closer, and sat on the table, one hand covering his own. “You care a lot, and that means you’re hard on yourself.”

“Maybe you should teach me to have a heart of ice then.” It was an unintentional quip but one that drove that icy knife back into her gut. Only once he felt her pull her hand away did Clint think on his words. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“She left you, had to be good at putting on that mask. Had to keep everyone at a distance... but not you, not really...”

He sighed at looked at her once more. “I’ve loved her for a long time. It’s impossible not to love you. I don’t know where she stops and you begin.”

“... Me either.”


End file.
